Not Alone
by VoiceofDarkness
Summary: When a mysterious visitor turns up at the agency, the girls have to find out what it is she wants. Dylan realizes that they have something in common. But can this dark assassin and the angels coexist peacefully through the next assingment? Please review!
1. Prologue

Hell-raiser. Thrill-seeker. Morgana. That was her name. She didn't have a surname. She didn't need one. Just Morgana.  
  
It was raining. Did she even notice? Not really. Rain. Sweat. Blood. Tears. It was all the same to her. She was walking resolutely down the middle of the deserted street. Her black hair, that hovered an inch above her slightly hunched shoulders, was plastered to her pallid face. Her milky blue eyes glimmered with an almost insane purpose.  
  
She was soaked by the time she reached the doorway of the Townsend Agency. Her double-breasted pinstriped suit, her white silk shirt, her black tie, all were sodden. No one had ever understood why she dressed so much like a man. No one, that is except one person. She turned the handle.  
  
Locked. Oh well.  
  
She reached into her breastpocket and pulled out a small leather pouch. Double ball rake, medium tension wrench. She slid both into the lock and moved them around for a few seconds. Right on the money. It was almost too easy. Charlie's Angels, and a kid with a paperclip could pick the lock if they tried.  
  
She stepped into the lobby of the agency, dripping wet. She must have stood for half an hour, letting most of the water drip off of her and onto the mat inside the door. Her hair was starting to become less heavy. When she was dry enough, she cleaned off the bottom of her Victorian boots and walked into the office.  
  
She sat down on a taupe sofa that faced the desk. She founded herself almost staring down the white speakerbox. "It's all your fault," she whispered, in a singsong tone. Then she smirked. Someone left their purse sitting on the coffee table. Morgana pulled out the billfold. The driver's license read Dylan Sanders.  
  
Her upper lip curled, and she placed the checkbook back in the black bag. Her hand brushed something familiarly soft. She let her fingers curl around a clump of hair. Black hair. Short black hair. A wild look passed over her face as she brought it beneath her nose. It smelled warm, like vanilla and almonds. Like his hair oil. She threw the reminder back into the purse.  
  
A fresh wave of loneliness and hopelessness washed over her. She shifted in her seat and leaned back so that she was laying on the couch, her ankles crossed on the opposite arm rest. She closed her eyes and lay silent for as long as it took her to start crying. Her sobs were hysterical and screeching. She was glad she hadn't worn mascara. Not that she needed it; her eyelashes were dark. So were her eyebrows, which she kept plucked into sharp diagonal points.  
  
A clock on the fireplace chimed eight forty-five. They had to be opening sometime soon. She dried off her face and sat up again. The angels would come in. They would want to know why she was there. They would ask a thousand questions. And she would have answers.  
  
She would be ready. 


	2. Questions

A/N: Sorry this took a while. This is my first fanfic, so review please. Be constructive. If you really hate it, don't keep reading.  
  
Chapter Two  
  
By the time John Bosely entered the office of Charles Townsend Private Investigations, Morgana was no more than a shadow against the wall. Humming absently, he flipped on a few lights and went to the desk. He kept humming, slowing down accordingly as he rifled through the papers on his desk. "Man, Jimmy left this in a mess," he said aloud to himself.  
  
Morgana rolled her neck from one side to the other, resulting in three rather loud subsequent cracks. She pulled a cigarette from a silver case, then pulled out a matching silver lighter and held it to the cigarette's tip. The smell of lit tobacco filled the room immediately, and a silvery cloud of smoke surrounded her head. Bosely looked up to find the imposing, dark figure pacing back and forth at the head of the office.  
  
He cleared his throat, "Miss? Is there something I can help you with?" "All in good time," she said, never stopping to look at him. She had a unique, wavering cadence that was liquid but choppy at the same time. She was still puffing greedily on the cigarette, breathing in the fumes vehemently. "Would you sit down?" Bosley asked. "I would rather not, thanks," she replied somewhat sardonically.  
  
Seeming somewhat wounded, Bosely thought for something else to say. "Could you not do that?" he asked. She stopped and raised a cynical eyebrow, then threw her half-finished cigarette onto the Persian rug and drove it in with her toe. Bosely winced. She smirked and began pacing again, messing with her fingers since she had nothing to occupy her.  
  
"Do you have a name?" he asked, somewhat annoyed. She nodded dryly. "I see no point in repeating it four times," she drawled. He shrugged, and she leaned back into the shadows as Alex Munday came in.  
  
"Morning, Bos," she said brightly, then caught sight of Morgana, "Who's that?" "Don't mind me," chimed Morgana irately. "I don't actually know," he admitted, "She was in here when I got here." Alex shrugged and sat down.  
  
The sounds of laughter echoed through the lobby as Dylan and Natalie came in. "Hey Bosley, hey Alex," they said, almost in unison. Dylan looked thoughtfully at Morgana as she walked past. "Do I know you?" she questioned quietly. Morgana smirked. "You'd be surprised," she nearly mouthed.  
  
"So who are you?" Natalie asked as Morgana stepped into the foreground. The three girls were sitting on the sofa and Bosely leaned back against the desk. The out of place guest leaned leisurely against the fireplace. "Some call me the Raven," she listed without emotion, "Some call me the Voice of Darkness. My name is Morgana." "Morgana...?" Alex pressed. "Morgana," the woman finalized. "Why are you here, though?" Dylan asked.  
  
Morgana narrowed her eyes at the redhead. She knew that hair, knew its scent and texture all too well. "I want to know," she said quietly, "Where my brother is."  
  
Natalie jumped at the chance to play secretary. "Well, then you should contact Charlie directly," she explained like she was talking to a child, "He could work you in to our schedule, and then--"  
  
But Morgana was looking murderous. "Look," she seethed, "I'm not trying to give you all another chance to play James Bond. What I want are some answers. And I know one of you can give them to me." "How do you know?" asked Alex. "My brother is dead," her voice wavered even more than normal, "And you are responsible."  
  
A horrid thought flashed across Dylan's mind. "O'Grady..." she whispered. Morgana nearly snorted. "O'Grady?" she chortled, "Do I look Irish to you? I am full-blood Romanian, thank you." "But, what do we have to do with your brother?" Natalie asked.  
  
Morgana's blood surged. "My brother died fighting with you. He died protecting you." "Which one of us?" urged Dylan. "You, Miss Sanders," cooed Morgana. Her tone had suddenly changed, and she was smirking strangely. Dylan looked at her blankly. "Oh, surely you remember," her tone became vindictive again gradually, "Since he basically died in your arms. Yes, you know it. He protected you. He kissed you. He loved you. And you. Let. Him. Die."  
  
It suddenly dawned on her. "Oh, my God..." she gasped, "The Voice of Darkness..." "Because I spoke for one who wouldn't speak." Morgana finished. The other three looked at them blankly. "Could you please explain what's going on?" Bosely asked shortly. "My brother and I were assassins," Morgana explained with a note of pride, "We sold our confidence to the highest bidder, and swore we would never find love in any but each other. And then...Charles Townsend came along."  
  
The phone rang, and Bosely jumped. He pressed a button on the speakerphone. "Good-morning, angels," Charlie called cheerfully. "Good morning, Charlie," they said dully and out of synch. "Glad you could join us," added Morgana darkly. "Morgana, is that you?" he asked, "How long have you been there?" "Since about eight," she said, "And I'm sick of waiting." "Alright, alright, but let me explain to the girls first," Charlie drew a deep breath and said, "Angels, Morgana will be working with us on our next assignment." Natalie groaned. "Don't think I like it any more than you," Morgana growled. "Why did you take the job then?" Natalie snapped. "Because Charlie's paying with something no one else can." Natalie looked confused. "He knows about my brother's death."  
  
"Morgana's brother, Anthony was working for me during the Madison Lee case," Charlie told them, "She was as well, although you didn't see her as much as you saw him." "You're brother's the Thin Man," Alex realized. Morgana nodded. "Where's the body, Charlie?" she asked forcefully, facing the speakerbox, "What did you do to my brother's body?" "I told you, I haven't done anything with your brother, Morgana." She scoffed.  
  
"Aside from Morgana, we will also be having other assistance," continued Charlie. "Great," she snarled involuntarily, "Another one of these damned Angels." "No, Morgana," said Charlie patiently, "In fact, I believe it is someone you've worked with before." "I've never worked with anyone." "Turn around, Morgana." "Why?" "Turn around."  
  
Morgana obeyed slowly. She didn't like being ordered around, especially not by a phone. Her brother had always been the patient one, surprisingly the negotiator. And unless she was horribly wrong, he was standing in the doorway to the office.  
  
Her lower lip dropped an inch. Her breath came in quiet gasps. "It can't be," she whispered. The angels twisted in their seats. The Thin Man, looking healthy as ever, was walking slowly in Morgana's direction. She walked to him as well, as if worried he might fade away if she approached too swiftly.  
  
She put her hand on his face, and he held her forearm. "Is it you?" she asked in barely a whisper. He nodded and gave her a rare, warm smile. Nearly sobbing, she threw her arms around him. He cradled her head against his chest, and she strained to hear his heartbeat. He rested his chin in her hair. It had been nearly three months she he had held her, since he had smelled the dark, mysterious perfume on her hair. "Morgana," he whispered, "My Morgana."  
  
She looked up at him adoringly, touching his cheek one last time before she moved away. "Charlie," she gasped, "Why didn't you tell me?" "Your brother insisted I keep it a secret," Charlie said, sounding almost apologetic.  
  
Morgana made her way to a chair and sat down. She looked at Dylan, glowing, and nodded. The redhead stood slowly and walked over to the tall, pale figure. He opened his arms to her and she clung to him almost as desperately as Morgana just had. "That night," he said into her ear, "I was trying to tell you that I love you." "And I love you," she confessed, "I haven't thought about anything else." He smiled apologetically and stroked cradled the right side of her face with one hand. He kissed her quickly, smiled again, and they went to sit down, him taking the chair beside Morgana.  
  
"Well," said Charlie, "Now that we've worked everything out, we can get down to business."  
  
"Wait," said Natalie desperately, "I still don't understand what's going on!"  
  
Everyone, even Charlie, laughed. 


	3. Rock and Rivalry

A/N: This is a long chapter, mostly because of the songs in it. Sorry, I couldn't resist putting a little rock in. This chapter sorta sucks, I'm really just tying up loose ends with this.  
  
Charlie, Anthony, Dylan, and Morgana slowly explained everything again, for Natalie's benefit.  
  
"Which brings us to our next assignment," said Charlie, "The Ciafatelli Family were the archrivals of the O'Grady Clan. While Seamus O'Grady's death was undoubtedly a blessing-" Anthony made a strange noise in his throat "-It has enabled the Ciafatellis to take a much stronger hold than they had before."  
  
"The murders," whispered Natalie.  
  
"Exactly," Charlie continued, "Police suspect that a string of murders happening in the city's business district are connected."  
  
"So who do we kill?" asked Morgana, almost hungrily.  
  
"No one, at this point," said Charlie, and the screen on the wall faded to show a handsome Italian man with rather oiled black hair and olive skin, "This is Michael Ciafatelli. He's the heir to the Ciafatelli empire. If anyone knows what's happening, he does."  
  
"So we take him out," said Morgana.  
  
"Stake him out would be more appropriate," muttered Natalie.  
  
"Michael spends Friday nights at the Bluesrock Bandstand. We're going to check on him."  
  
Everyone shifted anxiously in their seats; they were waiting for their roles in the stakeout.  
  
"Bosley," listed Charlie, "You'll be working as a bartender. Natalie will be a waitress." Natalie rolled her eyes, she was always a waitress.  
  
"Alex, you'll be acting as a bouncer. Should you find a member of the Ciafatelli gang, toss them out and notify Dylan and Anthony. They'll know what to do. They will be acting simply as patrons, but it may be a good idea for you two to stick together."  
  
Alex smirked and nudged Dylan, who shrugged and smiled sheepishly. "Morgana," Charlie rounded off, "You'll be singing."  
  
Her jaw dropped. "What?" she said.  
  
"At the Bluesrock," he said, "You'll be singing."  
  
Dylan thought she saw Anthony smirk at Morgana, but she shot him a warning look. "I can't sing," she said, "Especially not blues rock." "Liar," whispered Anthony in singsong. She elbowed him.  
  
"Dylan, Morgana," said Charlie, "I would like you two to go down to the Bluesrock now and arrange for tonight."  
  
Morgana looked reluctant. She didn't want to leave Anthony so soon, and she could tell Dylan felt the same. "Could Anthony come?" Dylan asked, childlike.  
  
Charlie chuckled. "All right. It might be healthy for you three to talk together."  
  
"Thanks, Charlie," Dylan and Morgana said in unison. They stood and walked out, Anthony with one woman on each arm.  
  
Parked in front of the agency was a recently waxed, black XJ12. "Is that your car?" asked Dylan, almost in awe.  
  
"Actually," said Morgana, whisking the keys out of her brother's pocket, "It's mine." He raised his eyebrows sardonically. "Back seat," she mouthed, and got in.  
  
"Could you guys explain something?" asked Dylan when they were on their way, "Why are you talking all of a sudden?" "I only talk to people I trust," Anthony explained, "I trusted Morgana, of course. And then I trusted you. So, I trust who you trust."  
  
Dylan nodded, then asked, "Does anyone know where this club is, anyway?" Morgana nodded. "I've been there dozens of times," she said. Dylan was puzzled, but she didn't press further.  
  
That night at nine, they were in Bosley's Navigator outside the Bluesrock's back door. Bosley and Natalie were dressed at typical wait staff. Alex was all in black leather with a short wig on. She had a fake nose ring to make her look tougher. Anthony and Morgana were in their signature pinstripes. Dylan was dressed in classy casual, .  
  
Natalie opened a silver briefcase and started to pass out molar mics. "We can keep in touch the whole time," she said, "Stick it on your back molar." She handed Alex an extra one. "You'll need to wait and get yours after you're finished singing," she told Morgana, "Otherwise the feedback will mess the transmission up."  
  
Morgana nodded. "I still don't see why I have to sing," she grumbled, "I really can't." Anthony eyed her skeptically. "Okay," said Natalie, "Bosley and I'll go in first. Then Anthony and Dylan, then Morgana, then Alex."  
  
Everyone entered the club in the right order, and when Alex was stationed at the back door, Morgana sauntered onstage. She spoke for a minute with a man who looked like he was the lead guitarist, who in turn talked to the band. Dylan smiled. "She knows how to talk with a house band," she told Anthony, who was sitting across from her. He nodded, "She was really selling herself short back there," he said.  
  
The intro started, and Dylan recognized it immediately. "Oh my gosh," she said quietly, smirking and nodding. "What?" he asked. "Led Zeppelin," she said simply.  
  
And it was. Morgana really had sold herself short. Alex's jaw dropped and Bosley stopped pouring the gin he was holding. For when the dark lady assassin opened her mouth, a voice made for blues rock came out, a voice like Heart, Wynona, and Led Zeppelin combined. She looked bad, she looked tough, and had the club in awe as she brayed;  
  
"It's been a long time since I rock and rolled.  
  
It's been a lone time since I did the stroll.  
  
Let me get back, let me get back,  
  
Let me get back, baby, where I come from.  
  
It's been a long time, been a long time,  
  
Been a long lonely, lonely, lonely, lonely, lonely time.  
  
Yes it has!"  
  
The crowd whooped. Natalie caught sight of a greasy haired Italian to her left. "Alex, check your ten," she said.  
  
Alex did. "It's not him, his nose was bigger." Dylan laughed.  
  
Back onstage, Morgana was belting,  
  
"It's been a long time since the book of love,  
  
I can't count the tears of a life with no love.  
  
Carry me back, carry me back,  
  
Carry me back, baby, where I come from.  
  
It's been a long time, been a long time,  
  
Been a long lonely, lonely, lonely, lonely, lonely time.  
  
Ooh yeah, ooh yeah.  
  
Ooh yeah, ooh yeah.  
  
Ooh yeah, ooh yeah.  
  
Ooh yeah, ooh yeah,  
  
It's been a long time, been a long time,  
  
Been a long lonely, lonely, lonely, lonely, lonely time."  
  
"She's incredible," Dylan told Anthony during the guitar solo. He welled with pride. "I taught her everything she knows," he said, "Except for the singing. She did that on her own."  
  
"I wonder where she got it from."  
  
"Our father," he said, "He was a baritone and a very good singer."  
  
Morgana took a deep breath and prepared herself for the final push;  
  
"Seems so long since we walked in the moonlight,  
  
Making vows that just can't work right.  
  
Open your arms, open your arms,  
  
Open your arms, baby, let my love come running in.  
  
It's been a long time, been a long time,  
  
Been a long lonely, lonely, lonely, lonely, lonely time.  
  
Been a long time, been a long time,  
  
Been a long lonely, lonely, lonely, lonely...lonely time."  
  
The club exploded in applause. The Italian man was whistling wildly. People were screaming, "Encore, encore!" Morgana shot a smug glance over at Natalie, who had just dropped the Belini she was carrying to the Italian's table in the uproar.  
  
Morgana looked at the guitarist, who nodded. "Okay," she called, and the roar ceased, "Okay, I'll do one more. Any requests? You, over there in the beige. Your name?"  
  
"Michael," said the Italian, "Michael Ciafatelli."  
  
"I was right," whispered Natalie.  
  
"Something you want to hear, Michael?" Morgana asked.  
  
"Planet Caravan," he said. Morgana smirked again. "Keep it in the written key," she told the band.  
  
The less-known Black Sabbath song was much slower and smoother than her last song. As she started to sing, Dylan and Anthony stood up and walked toward the back door. "I'll wait a minute, then toss him," Alex whispered as she let them out."  
  
Onstage, Morgana was crooning silkily;  
  
"We sail through endless skies,  
  
Stars shine like eyes,  
  
The black night sighs.  
  
The moon in silver trees  
  
Falls down in tears,  
  
Light of the night.  
  
The earth, a purple blaze  
  
Of sapphire haze,  
  
In orbit always."  
  
Alex came up behind Ciafatelli and tapped him on the shoulder. "One too many," she said, grabbing him by the cuff and dragging him to the back door. He let loose a string of curses as he found himself in the alley behind the club, with a red-haired woman and a man in a pinstriped suit standing in front of him, arms crossed.  
  
"While down below the trees,  
  
Bathed in cool breeze,  
  
Silver starlight  
  
Breaks down the night.  
  
And so we pass on by  
  
The crimson eye  
  
Of great God mars  
  
As we travel the universe."  
  
"Want to do one more?" the lead guitarist asked Morgana. She shrugged. "I'll pick," he said, and started with a drum solo she recognized, and that Dylan heard in the alley.  
  
She shook her head. "Oh, my word," she laughed, "Ozzy?"  
  
Anthony raised an eyebrow. "Oh, right," she said, kicking out suddenly and pining Ciafatelli to the door, her boot on his neck. "Really subtle," Anthony mouthed.  
  
Alex was shaking her head at Natalie, who was glaring at Bosley, who was staring, captivated at the woman onstage. Morgana had resumed her sarcastic, flippant air and was playing the lyrics of the song thrown at her for all they were worth;  
  
"Over the mountain take me across the sky  
  
Something in my vision, something deep inside  
  
Where did I wander, where d'ya think I wandered to  
  
I've seen life's magic astral plane I travel through  
  
I heard them tell me that this land of dreams was now  
  
I told them I had ridden shooting stars  
  
And I said I'd show them how."  
  
Out back, Ciafatelli was trying to curse. "We'll let you down," said Dylan, "If you tell us a few things." He nodded. She kept her word, but in order to discourage him from running, Anthony drew his sword from his cane.  
  
"Why the murders?" Dylan asked.  
  
"Look," said Michael, "You got the wrong guy. We just do what we're told."  
  
Dylan cocked her head. "Listen," Michael relaxed a bit, "What a lot of people don't know is that the Ciafatellis work for other gangs. We ain't our own operation, if you know what I'm saying. Back when we was split with the O'Gradys we was working for the Diablo Cartel."  
  
"Who are you working for now?"  
  
"Seamus O'Grady."  
  
"Over and over always tried to get away  
  
Living in a daydream only place I had to stay  
  
Fever of a breakout burning in me miles wide  
  
People around me talking to the walls inside  
  
I heard them tell me that this land of dreams was now  
  
I told them I had ridden shooting stars  
  
And I said I'd show them how."  
  
"Seamus O'Grady is dead," Dylan said.  
  
Michael shook his head, "Look, I'm just working for him. We're supposed to take out Charlie's Angels and a couple of assassins, that's all I know."  
  
"Don't need no astrology; it's inside of you and me  
  
You don't need a ticket to fly with me--I'm free.  
  
Over and under in between the ups and downs  
  
Mind on a carpet magic ride goes round and round  
  
Over the mountain kissing silver inlaid clouds  
  
Watching my body disappear into the crowd  
  
Don't need no astrology it's inside of you and me  
  
You don't need a ticket to fly with me--I'm free."  
  
Sweaty and drained, Morgana stepped off on the stage to further applause. Natalie just glowered at her as she stepped toward the back door. As she stepped out, she saw Ciafatelli walking away and a shaking Dylan being pulled tenderly into her brother's arms.  
  
"What happened?" Morgana asked.  
  
"Seamus O'Grady," Dylan panted, "He's alive."  
  
Morgana's eyes narrowed and her lip curled. "Damn it," she said to Anthony, "I knew we should have checked." "We'll check this time," he said.  
  
"Yeah," growled Morgana, "And please allow me the pleasure of cutting off his balls as a test."  
  
"Why would you want to cut O'Grady's testicles?" Natalie asked. The other three had heard Dylan's news.  
  
Morgana turned around with a dull look on her face. "Aside from the fact that he ran a sword in between my brother's spinal chord and left lung? Hmm, I don't know. Why don't you tell me?"  
  
"Morgana!" scolded Anthony.  
  
"What do we do now?" asked Alex.  
  
"We take him out," said Morgana.  
  
"Is that your answer to everything?" snapped Natalie.  
  
"Problem?" chimed Morgana dryly.  
  
"Maybe."  
  
"Guys!" called Bosley, "Come on. This is serious. Who's he after?"  
  
"Me," said Dylan, "Again." She buried her face in Anthony's shoulder. Natalie moved to apt her back but Morgana beat her to it. "It's okay," she nearly whispered, "I know what you're feeling." Somehow, it was more believable for Dylan to hear it from her rather than Natalie, mostly because Morgana really had almost lost someone to Seamus. Dylan knew at this point that Anthony didn't really matter to the other angels.  
  
"You shouldn't be alone tonight, Dylan," said Natalie instead.  
  
"I'll stay with her," said Anthony. "Would you?" Dylan looked up at him, relieved. He nodded and held her to him again.  
  
"I'll drop you off," said Bosley. Without another word, the group climbed into the Lincoln.  
  
Natalie couldn't help but glare jealously at Morgana, who was helping comfort Dylan. Alex repeatedly jabbed her in the ribs as a signal to lighten up.  
  
Up on the rooftop of the Bluesrock Bandstand, a hunched-over figure was watching them drive away. "Well, well, Helen," said a thick Irish accent, "Ya still got that arse on ya, then?" 


	4. Private Thoughts

A/N: Much to my misfortune, I do not own Charlie's Angels. I would be rich if I did. I wish I owned Crispin Glover. I wish I owned Alan Rickman, too, but that's a different story. All I've got at this point are Morgana and the Ciafatellis.  
  
"Will you two be alright?" Bosley asked when they pulled up to Dylan's apartment building. Anthony and Dylan nodded. "'Night guys," she said quietly, and they got out of the car and headed up the stairs.  
  
Morgana moved to get out as well. "Where do you think you're going?" Natalie asked. "I left my car here," Morgana replied acidly. She was tired, and although the adrenaline rush from singing was good, it was wearing off and she was not in the mood for blonde reasoning. The door slammed behind her, and Bosley drove off.  
  
"Glad she's gone," sighed Natalie, leaning back.  
  
"What do you mean?" asked Alex.  
  
"Oh come on, Alex," she said, "She's a bitch."  
  
"I like her," said Bosley. Natalie glared.  
  
"Look," Alex rolled her eyes, "Just because she's not as perky as we are normally doesn't mean she's a bitch. She can fight really well."  
  
"How do we know that?" asked Natalie.  
  
"Hello? Watched her brother lately? And he said he taught her everything she knows. Which means she's as good as him, if not better."  
  
"He's not that good."  
  
"Nat, if that nuthatch hadn't chirped back on the Knox case, he's have sliced me into ribbons."  
  
"Exactly. He tried to kill us."  
  
"And then tried to save us."  
  
"Because he was hired to."  
  
"And now he's in love with Dylan. Look, as much as you dislike her, neither of them would hurt us, even though they're perfectly capable of it."  
  
Natalie shrugged.

* * *

Dylan stared at herself in the mirror. She had changed out of her clothes and was wearing a pair of boxer shorts and an old white T-shirt. She pulled out her hair sticks and tossed her head, letting her hair fall haphazardly around her shoulders. Then she walked out of the bathroom and saw Anthony. He had taken off his shoes, tie, and suit coat and was getting ready to bed down on the couch.  
  
"Please," she said, and he turned and saw her standing in the doorway, "Stay with me." He stood up and walked over to her, embracing her and kissing her forehead. "I won't let him hurt you," he promised. She smiled weakly.  
  
She climbed in to bed, still holding on to him, and he followed. She had her back to him, and he placed his hands on her hips and pulled her to him until he had a firm hold around her waist. His nose was nestled conveniently in her gorgeous red hair. "Good night, Anthony," She whispered. His voice melted into her ear, "Good night, my angel."

* * *

Morgana sat alone in her dark, minimalist bedroom on her small bed. That bastard O'Grady was still alive. That worthless worm that had made her think her brother was dead for three months. If it was up to her, she would go after him right then. But, she was working for someone now, and had to wait for the order.  
  
She made fun of herself. "Is this what you stoop to in your grief?" she asked her reflection in the plain mirror on her wall, "Taking orders from an appliance?" She shook the thought from her head. The angels weren't all bad. Dylan was her favorite of course; she liked her for the same reasons her brother loved her. She had fire, she had spirit, she was a loner in her own sense but she still needed companionship.  
  
But that Natalie. It wasn't bad enough she was ditsy. She had to be a pretentious bitch too. Of course, she wasn't to Alex and Dylan and Bosley, not even to Anthony. Just to her. 'You know why,' she thought as she took off her tie while simultaneously kicking off her boots, 'She sees you as a threat.' She smirked, throwing off her suit jacket. 'We'll play off it then. Make a little game.'

* * *

Bosley poured himself a stiff drink and sat down on his leather sofa. He had changed into a flannel robe and slippers and propped his feet up on the coffee table. 'What's gotten in to you, Bos?' he wondered into the maple colored liquid, 'What's wrong?'  
  
He knew. It was her. She spoke more, but she was as much of an enigma as her nearly silent brother. He couldn't forget her casual, confident air as she nonchalantly dropped the market value of a hand-made rug. He couldn't forget the power of her voice as she tore through Led Zeppelin and Ozzy Osbourne, resting in between with the silken Black Sabbath tune. "You're kidding yourself," he said aloud, "Like she would ever fall for a Bosley."

* * *

Pete was sound asleep when Natalie got home. Quietly, she crept into the bathroom and pulled out a makeup removal cloth, carefully cleaning each eyelash free of mascara. Morgana hadn't worn any makeup that night. So how was it that her face glowed flawless ivory under those stage lights? How was it that an assassin could have such a powerful singing voice?  
  
'You're jealous,' said a voice in her head.  
  
'I am not.'  
  
'Yes, you are.'  
  
'Not.'  
  
She brushed out her hair. Morgana's was lank and pitch black without a conceivable lowlight or highlight. It fell at her neck and the ends moved restlessly every which way. Natalie's was blonde, with honey-toned streaks here and there. She pulled out her chandelier earrings and put them on her earring holder.  
  
'Why would I be jealous of a cross-dresser, anyway?'

* * *

Jason was snoring comically, laying almost spread-eagled and taking up the whole bed. Alex sighed, shaking her head and smiling. She flopped down on the couch and looked up at the ceiling.  
  
Why did Nat hate Morgana so much? She was rude to her from the beginning.  
  
She was definitely feeling threatened by her. But why? Most Extreme scenario, she would be Dylan's sister-in-law. Nat was just judging before she knew someone well.  
  
Alex decided that there was no reason not to give her the benefit of the doubt. Especially seeing that Charlie trusted her.  
  
Charlie trusted Vivian Wood.  
  
But this was different. They didn't know Wood. They didn't know Morgana either, but they knew her brother. Maybe it was because he had saved her neck, too, but Alex trusted Anthony. And if his sister was so devoted to him, she would trust her too.  
  
'Nat'll come around,' she decided, and turned on her side to get some sleep.

* * *

'Am I doing the right thing?' Charles Townsend ruthlessly questioned.  
  
'Of course you are,' he reassured himself, 'You've never led the angels astray before.'  
  
Knox. DeSoto. Madison Lee.  
  
He sighed. Anthony was in love with Dylan, that much he knew. All Charlie knew was that he had better not hurt her the way Knox had. The way O'Grady had.  
  
Somehow, he knew that the assassin was sincere. And his sister! She was sharp as a razor, smart as a whip. In a way, they too were angels. Dark angels, with raven's wings. He smiled. Morgana's was more like a bat's wing. They watched over his girls, they watched over the nuns and their orphanage, and in a way they watched over him.  
  
They had in their agile hands the very people who were most dear to them, and they held them as though they were glass. Even Natalie, he realized, Morgana was watching out for. Natalie had a bit of an attitude, that was certain. She was normally very sweet, though. He couldn't understand why she felt insecure. Morgana couldn't replace her. Wouldn't replace her. He knew, because he had once asked her...  
  
He didn't finish the thought, for jet lag had finally caught up with him. 


	5. Fingernails

A/N: I still own nothing, except Morgana and the Ciafatellis. Also, snaps to those of you who catch the Die Hard reference. Did I just say snaps? Oh well.

* * *

Aging is inevitable. Maturing is optional. Natalie Cook was a perfect example.  
  
This girl had to be on a steady diet of raw sugar. She was wearing khaki hip-huggers, pink converse, and an equally pink Care Bear babydoll T-shirt. Her lips were pink, her nails were pink. And she was touching up her left index finger, that she said she smudged closing the car door.  
  
_Gag me,_ begged Morgana silently, _Gag me with a spoon.  
_  
Natalie was humming "Take My Breath Away." _Gag me with a fork for all I care,_ Morgana thought, _Yeah, I'll take your breath away._

"What are you doing?"  
  
"Fixing a nail," said Natalie, resuming her song.  
  
"Why did you paint them in the first place?"  
  
"So they'll look pretty."  
  
Morgana looked down at her hands. Her nails were clean. Obsessively clean. You couldn't expect any more or any less from an assassin. She kept her nails trimmed so that they barely stuck out over her skin. Natalie's were talons. It had to be hard to punch someone with the fingernails in the way.  
  
"Of course, I wouldn't expect you to understand that," then she murmured, "Cross-dresser."  
  
"You want to say that a little louder, Blondie?" warned Morgana.  
  
"No."  
  
"I'm _not_ a cross-dresser."  
  
"Please," groaned Natalie, pointing at her emsenble with a fingernail file, "John Philips, London."  
  
Morgana smirked. "My brother has one. I have two, myself. The rest of mine are Italian. Is identifying brand names your only skill, or do you have other uses? Oh yes, I forgot," the smirk widened, "You're good at...serving..." _Servicing,_ she thought.  
  
"Just because I have a body to show doesn't mean you have to take it out on me."  
  
_That made no sense._ "Or perhaps it's the fact that I can go through life comfortably and achieve my goals without having to flaunt myself. Try wearing a pants suit sometime. You might like it."  
  
"I'll stick to hip huggers, thanks," Natalie glowered.  
  
"You obviously don't have any idea how ridiculous you look doing martial arts in a tube top and stilettos," Morgana pulled out her cigarette holder, and slipped in, "And why would you, a woman so capable of having any man she wants, be so concerned about Bosley's romantic tendencies?"  
  
Natalie opened her mouth, but Bosley came in. Morgana lit the cigarette smugly and began to breathe in. Natalie watched as she brought it to her lips with her first two fingers, then took it away with her thumb and forefinger. Then she would roll her middle finger around again until she had the cigarette in its original hold. Her lips, around it, were savoring and caressing, almost sensual.  
  
Natalie cleared her throat and Bosley looked up. Her eyes darted to Morgana repeatedly. "Oh!" he exclaimed, then, surprisingly, pulled an ashtray out of a desk drawer and set in front of the smoking woman. "Thanks," she said, deliberately coy. Bosley felt an odd sensation in the base of his spine.  
  
"I guess I better call the others," he said. The clock loomed close to nine and Alex, Dylan, and Anthony weren't there yet. He picked up the phone to dial, but seemed to forget what he was doing as he looked at the back of Morgana's head.  
  
_It's just the back of her head,_ he told himself, _Snap out of it._

* * *

A/N: Short chapter, but I wanted to keep the Natalie/Morgana spat separate. More coming, and thanks for all the great reviews! 


	6. Lunch Break

Disclaimer: You know, at this point

* * *

Dylan and Anthony arrived shortly, and Alex came in with the "overslept" excuse. At nine sharp, Bosley answered the ringing phone.  
  
"Good morning, angels," called Charlie.  
  
"Good morning, Charlie," the three girls called.  
  
"'Morning," Morgana added. Natalie shot her a nasty look.  
  
"I'm glad to see everyone's here. In light of what we've discovered, I'll be giving you all the day off, but I encourage you all to stay in touch. Come in at nine as usual Sunday."  
  
"Ah," Anthony began. Morgana picked up, "Ah, that's...not going to work, Charlie."  
  
The angels looked at her in disbelief. They never questioned Charlie. "What is it, Morgana?" he asked.  
  
"We, ah," she struggled, "We have prior obligations."  
  
"I'll have to ask you what they are, Morgana." Anthony explained, "We go to Mass. At the convent. We haven't missed a week since Morgana was six."  
  
"You kill for a living. And you go to church?" Natalie asked.  
  
"And go to confession more times a month than most people do in their entire life."  
  
"And you haven't missed a week since you were six?" Dylan asked. Morgana nodded. "It's the least I can do. The nuns were very upset when I said I wouldn't join the convent."  
  
"They wanted you to join the convent?" Alex asked. Again Morgana nodded. "When my brother ran away from the orphanage, he was only gone a week. He brought me back with him, and the nuns raised me. They liked having me around, because I talked for him. When I turned sixteen, they all expected me to enter the novitiate. I had...other plans."  
  
"Obviously," said Natalie quietly.  
  
"All right," said Charlie, "Ten fifteen, and no later. Good-bye Angels, et. al. "  
  
Out front, everyone was splitting their separate ways. Dylan was going back to her apartment, and Alex was going with her. Anthony and Morgana had some 'matters' to take care of, since he had been AWOL for three months, but he was meeting Dylan for lunch later. Taking the initiative, Bosley asked Morgana to lunch as well and was surprised when she accepted.  
  
"Well," said Alex, "Nat, you and I can grab something later if you want."  
  
"Sure," said a burnt-out Natalie. She would get to go home and let the dog shed on her for two and a half hours.

* * *

Natalie and Alex met at a bistro a few minutes after noon. After ordering a pear and cheese salad, Alex asked Nat, "What's with you and Morgana, anyway? I mean, it's really upsetting Dylan, I can tell."  
  
Natalie jabbed her fork into a pecan and said, "It's really not my fault. If she would stop acting like a mordant assassin then maybe..."  
  
"And maybe she would like you if you would stop acting like a perky schoolgirl?"  
  
"Alex, I always act like a perky schoolgirl."  
  
"That's what I mean. She's her. Plus, she hasn't had anyone but her brother for years. She's not the kind of person who likes people telling her how to live her life."  
  
"Neither am I."  
  
"No one is. Nat, she hasn't done anything to you that you haven't asked for."  
  
"Whatever. I mean, she waltzes into the agency, leaves a cigarette burn on the rug, talks to Charlie like an equal-(Alex: In a way, she is)- and now Bosley has a thing for her."  
  
"What do you care if Bosley likes her? She impressed me last night. I never knew that Planet Caravan was a Black Sabbath song."  
  
"Oh, God, Alex. You're starting to sound like Bosley!"  
  
And with a huff, Natalie picked up her purse and left. "Nat!" Alex called, but it was no good. She shook her head and stole the pecan off of Natalie's salad.

* * *

Bosley took Morgana to the Musso and Frank. Right off the bat, he ordered a glass of red wine. "You want a glass?" he asked. She shook her head.  
  
"I don't drink," she explained, "It messes up the system."  
  
"But you smoke," he said.  
  
"Old habits," she shrugged.  
  
After a moment of playing with his napkin, he worked up, "Listen, you were fantastic last night."  
  
"Thanks," she barely spoke, "I don't sing all that often."  
  
"You should," he said, "You could make a living that way."  
  
She cocked an eyebrow. "Music business. It's too flashy for me."  
  
"And this isn't?"  
  
"It's not if you don't run around and fight crime in your underwear," she mimicked an infomercial announcer, "All while keeping your hair perfect! But wait, we also do private parties..."  
  
Bosley was cracking up. "You know, at first glance you look really..."  
  
"Dark? Mysterious? Distant?" she filled in.  
  
"Yeah," he said, "But, man you're just full of surprises."  
  
"I don't open up to people easily," she said, "I lost my family, except for Anthony, I guess you wouldn't understand..."  
  
"I would," he said, "I lost my parents, too."  
  
"Wow," she said, almost smiling and interested, "I would have never guessed."

* * *

"Thanks for not minding staying in for lunch," said Dylan as she pulled a bowl of chicken soup out of the microwave, "But, I really don't think I need to be out too much right now."  
  
He nodded. "I knew I should have stabbed him that night," said Anthony.  
  
"Hey," she said, "I've been curious. What exactly happened that night. You know, after you fell?"  
  
He closed his eyes and breathed in deeply as if calling back the memory, while in reality it was as fresh in his mind as yesterday. "When I fell," he said, "I was unconscious for a few minutes. When I woke up, O'Grady was laying beside me, but his neck was looking twisted, so I thought he was dead. The momentum when I hit caused the sword to sort of...be pushed out. I was bleeding everywhere, though. I managed to drag myself down the alley for a while. I have a friend who does operations. He's very discreet."  
  
She nodded, then asked, "But, why not contact someone? Your sister?"  
  
"I had to rest for three months. She's seen me broken before, but never that bad. I didn't...want her to see me the way I was."  
  
She could understand. She never liked looking weak before. But she had one night, there in front of Seamus. She shook her head. "I promise," he said, "If he comes anywhere near you, I'll cut his nearest appendage off." She laughed, but then she turned serious. "We've dealt with the Irish mob before. But, even we've never had to tangle with the Cias before."  
  
Anthony waved it away. "Michael Ciafatelli's father more or less owes his life and his son's to Morgana and I," he narrated.  
  
"But will he honor it?"  
  
He cocked his head a fraction. "Even in the underground, you know," he said, "We have a system of honor."  
  
"What is it?" she asked.  
  
"Oh," he said, "Sort of unspoken-"  
  
"Professional courtesy," Morgana finished; Bosley had asked her the same thing. "Confidence goes to the one paying the most, honor to the one who earns it," the two continued with the same words, "And absolute trust to almost no one. If you take a knife from someone's back for them, if you take a bullet or save some one, they are obligated to do you a favor for the same amount of life."  
  
Natalie burst in to Dylan's kitchen. "Nat," she said, surprised, and stood up. Natalie didn't notice Anthony. "We need to talk Dylan," she said.  
  
"You can't keep this up," she ranted, "This can not work. I mean, that Morgana is nothing but trouble. She's a snake, Dylan. We can't trust her, I can feel it. She's haughty and conceited and an all-around bitch. I seriously don't know what her parents were smoking when they had her. But come one they were Carnies. And she's an assassin. And so is he, Dylan. I mean, do you honestly think you can trust either of them?"  
  
A muscle was having a nasty spasm at the corner of Anthony's mouth as he stood up and cleared his throat. Dylan grimaced as Natalie turned around. "Excuse me," he said, "But can you expect me to sit here and act invisible while you insult every member of my family in turn? Going after the nuns next? My sister is as trustworthy as you, but as of now, I'm not sure how solid that is. Pardon me, Dylan, I'll be back in a few minutes, after she leaves."  
  
His spoon clattered on the table, and he stormed out.  
  
Natalie dusted off her hands with the look of a little girl who had just told off her little brother. "Oh, that was great, Nat," said Dylan sarcastically.  
  
"What?" asked Natalie.  
  
Dylan shook her head. "I can't talk right now, just...just get out, and ask him to come back in. Just..." she paused, and said, "I hope that you never wind up owing your life to either of them, for your sake."

* * *

A/N: I know what you're wondering; What about the Ciafatellis? What about Seamus? Why did Charlie have jet lag? Does Morgana like Bosley? All will be answered in time...in the mean time, keep reviewing please!


	7. Church and Conflict

* * *

New Disclaimer: I mention religion a bit in this chapter. I don't mean any offense to any religions I might bring up. The insults Natalie shoots at Morgana are based on my personal experience with some seriously messed-up religious fanatics in my hometown, which happens to be in the Midwest, and they just happened to not be Catholic.

* * *

Morgana and Anthony both had a difficult time keeping their minds on the Mass that Sunday. Anthony was wondering about Dylan; he loved her, loved with everything. But what about Natalie? Would she ever open up to them?  
  
Morgana, however, was thanking very inappropriate thoughts for a church. At first, she was coming up with ways to torment Natalie, but her mind switched during communion to various ways to kill Seamus O'Grady and cause the most pain. No one, she thought, No one messes with my brother, or the woman he loves. She smiled. He finally found someone. Now she needed to.  
  
She didn't really...or did she? She and her brother would still be as close, but with Dylan, they would have to incorporate her into his plans. She would be alone for more than she was used to. But there was no reason to rush into finding someone. She might even be alright on her own. She couldn't think offhand of anyone she was mildly interested in anyway.  
  
Well, maybe she could...  
  
She received a sharp jab to the ribs as she was pulled back into focus. Three seconds behind the rest of the congregation, she crossed herself quickly. "The Mass is ended," declared the priest, "Let us go in peace."  
  
"Thanks be to God," the congregation replied.  
  
"So," he brother asked when they left the church, "What were you thinking about?"  
  
She cocked an eyebrow and was silent. He shrugged and started to get in the car. She cleared her throat. "I don't try to drive your BMW," she said, taking the keys to her Jaguar and sliding in.

* * *

"You're late," snapped Natalie when the two entered the agency. "My watch says it's still ten fourteen," said Morgana, noticing that Alex was sitting in between Natalie and Dylan.  
  
"How long does it take you Catholics anyway?"  
  
Morgana loomed over her and snarled, "You want to clarify the meaning of that, Blondie?"  
  
Natalie stood up. She was about three inches shorter than Morgana, and she just now realized it. "I think the idol-worship speaks for itself." Oh, God she's a Midwest Protestant, Morgana thought.  
  
"You believe everything you read?" Morgana asked, cracking her knuckles.  
  
"Problem?" mimicked Natalie.  
  
"Just one," Morgana pulled back her right arm. Anthony latched onto her elbow. "Morgana!" he hissed. Slowly, she lowered her hand and jerked her arm away. Natalie sat own-self satisfied. Morgana shot her a glower that assured her she would have beaten her to a pulp if no one had been there.  
  
The two assassins and the angels sat down tersely as Bosley answered the ringing phone.  
  
"Good-morning Angels," came Charlie's voice.  
  
"Good-morning, Charlie." The three said.  
  
"I'm glad to see you all are here," -was that a note of sarcasm in his tone?- "But we have to backtrack. Morgana and Anthony informed me last night that they have an understanding with Michael Ciafatelli. You'll be going back to the Bluesrock tonight. You will all be filling your previous positions."  
  
Natalie groaned. "Can I be something besides a waitress?"  
  
"I'm sorry Natalie, but you're best at it. We meet back here at nine tomorrow morning. Good luck, everyone."

* * *

A/N: Not much of a chapter, but it's sort of necessary. We have two songs in the next one; another Black Sabbath and a Pink Floyd. We also have a fight scene and a Robin Hood reference (Don't ask.). I'll have it posted as soon as I can type it out! 


	8. Run Like Hell

When Morgana entered the club, last on list, she found the band forcing out the fuzzy, unsettling riff to Paranoid. The guitarist, Jack, he said his name was, waved at Morgana and smiled as he sang:  
  
"Finished with my woman 'cause she couldn't help me with my mind,  
  
People think I'm insane because I am frowning all the time."  
  
His voice was nothing compared to hers, and his tones were deeper and made the song flat. She leapt onstage and took the microphone in time for the second verse, and crowed;  
  
"All day long I think of things but nothing seems to satisfy.  
  
Think I'll lose my mind if I don't find something to pacify.  
  
Can you help me...occupy my brain?  
  
Whoah yeah."  
  
Everyone whooped, the ones who had been there Friday the loudest. Everyone except Natalie. She was scowling and taking Michael Ciafatelli's drink order, but was so wrapped up in glaring, she didn't even notice him.  
  
"I need someone to show me the things in life that I can't find.  
  
I can't see the things that make true happiness; I must be blind.  
  
Make a joke and I will sigh and you will laugh and I will cry.  
  
Happiness I cannot feel and love to me is so unreal.  
  
And so as you hear these words telling you now of my state,  
  
I tell you to enjoy life I wish I could but it's too late!"  
  
A surge of applause erupted, and Natalie rolled her eyes as Bosley whistled. Ciafatelli didn't seem to recognize Morgana, which was to their advantage. "Okay," she said, "We have in Floyd fans in here?"  
  
Several people, Bosley and Dylan included, whooped.  
  
"Well," Morgana continued, "I hope you won't think it irreverent if I put my own spin on our next song."  
  
A man entered and sat next to Ciafatelli as the band started up "Run Like Hell." Shooting a suspicious glance at her brother, she poured herself into the lyrics, as she did with every song she sang.  
  
"You better make your face up in your favorite disguise,  
  
With your button-down lips, and your roller blind eyes,  
  
With your empty smile, and your hungry heart.  
  
Feel the bile rising from your guilty past.  
  
With your nerves in tatters as the cockleshell shatters,  
  
And the hammers batter down your door,  
  
You better run!"  
  
Something was definitely happening. Men in Italian dress suits were popping up out of nowhere. She caught Dylan's eye, then Alex's, then Bosley's. Natalie was avoiding her. _Her loss if she gets killed_, thought Morgana, but something twinged inside her.  
  
"You better run all day and run all night.  
  
And keep your dirty feelings deep inside.  
  
And if you're taking your girlfriend out tonight,  
  
You better park the car well out of sight.  
  
'Cause if they catch you in the back seat trying to pick her locks,  
  
They're gonna send you back to mother in a cardboard box,  
  
You better run!"  
  
Morgana's last bray was shot straight as a warning to Ciafatelli. The music ended, and the twenty-five men stood up and made their way towards the various angels and assassins. Morgana's upper lip formed a dreadful snarl and she hocked and spat a disgusting glob of mucus at Michael Ciafatelli, who jumped back. "Wha...Morgana? You're the...why are you here?"  
  
"I was about to ask you the same thing," she said, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it.  
  
"How can you smoke at a time like this!?" shrieked Natalie.  
  
"This'll be a stretch for you, Blondie," she called, putting her hand on the until now unnoticeable hilt of her rapier, "But trust me!"

* * *

A/N: I thought I'd split this up so I could spend more space on the fight scene. This means I didn't get to the Robin Hood reference, but if you've seen the version with Kevin Costner (Prince of Thieves) then you'll catch the line. 


	9. The Irish Mob

* * *

As the chaos began, Morgana soothed the members of the house band. Then she surveyed the fray; Bosely and Natalie were over by the bar with ten, Dylan and Anthony were in a corner with ten, and Alex was taking on five just below the stage. Taking an exultant breath from her cigarette, she leapt gracefully from her perch and onto the back of on of the thugs. Alex punched one out, but in the time it took her to do so Morgana had knocked the wind out of two others. Then Alex tripped the last one and Morgana stepped on his throat. Alex grimaced as the sick, cracking noise ensued.  
  
"Go help Bosley," Morgana said, leaning back against a table. "Cheers," she toasted to the band as she shot back someone's whiskey. Not bad, she thought, First time for everything. Horrible aftertaste, no wonder I've never tried it before.  
  
Between the two of them, Dylan and Anthony had taken down half of the group that had attacked them, and Morgana knocked out two for good measure before going back to her cigarette. Alex and Natalie had finished off theirs with a series of sleepers and groin blows while Bosley whimpered behind the counter. Michael Ciafatelli was the last man standing, and he bolted like a rabbit when he saw the murder flash in Morgana's nearly clear eyes.  
  
He shot towards the back door, and Morgana sprinted onstage, jumping down on the opposite side and cutting him off. Growling, she grabbed ahold of his lapels and slammed him against the wall. "What the hell was that, Michael?" she asked.  
  
"I told you, " he croaked, "We were hired-"  
  
"Bullshit!" she spat, pulling on him and slamming him again into the wall, "What are you trying to prove? What are you trying to pull?"  
  
"O'Grady pays well. What can I say? You know what I mean, Morgana, don't you, old friend?"  
  
She slammed him into the wall one final time as she said, "You listen to me like it's the last thing you'll hear, you understand? You owe me your life, and you had better start acting like it or I'll start removing random organs with spoons!"  
  
She let go of him and strode towards her brother, and Ciafatelli ran up behind her. Before anyone could warn her, though, she heard him and pulled a throwng knife from her left sleeve. She tossed it, and the momentum pinned his by the neck to the wall he was just up against. Morgana casually strode over to his body and wrenched he knife free, wiping the blood on his suit and putting it back in her sleeve.  
  
"Well," she said over his slumped form, "At least I didn't use a spoon." She pulled out another cigarette and moved over to the huddle in the middle of the room.  
  
"What was that?" asked Natalie, "What the hell did you think you were doing?"  
  
"Ciafatelli went back on an alliance."  
  
"So? There are witnesses!"  
  
"You obviously aren't aware of the Code."  
  
"No, I'm frickin' not! And I'm going to report it!"  
  
"Aww...is wittle Natawie afwaid of the f wowd?" Morgana cocked an eyebrow, "You killed someone tonight too, Blondie, and I'll take you down with me if you say anything. Not that it matters, though, I do this every day.  
  
"What about them?" Alex motioned to the band. The drummer and bassist were sharing a joint and the keyboardest was holding a syringe with a guilty look on his face. "They're not talking," said Morgana.  
  
Dylan sighed. "All's settled, but we still don't know where O'Grady is."  
  
"Ah..." Bosley stammered, moving closer, "I think we do, guys."  
  
Everyone looked in the direction Bosley was, and there stood a hunched-over man, behind him at least another twenty gruff-looking thugs. Seamus O'Grady stepped into the light, a wicked grin on his face.  
  
"Well, well, well," he sneered, "Having a party? Forget to invite me, Helen? It's okay. I showed up on my own."

* * *

Charles Townsend was relaxing in his LA apartment. He liked this one better than his Florida condo. He always flew in to California whenever the angels were on a case so he could keep an eye on them.  
  
Speaking of the angels, Bosley should have called to check in by now. Something was not right, and he could feel it. He waited a few minutes, and still no call. Well, he thought, I'll have to go check it out myself.

* * *

A/N: Cliffhanger, huh? Don't worry, I'll have the next part up before too long. Until then, cheers! Did I just say cheers? Oh well. 


	10. Spoons

Morgana threw down her cigarette and marched up to Seamus, storming, "I've got a bone to pick with you, asshole. Who the hell do you think you are? God? Well, then allow me to present myself," she stopped in front of him, then in a blink pulled back her harm and cracking her knuckles against his jawbone. "That's for my brother." Rightt jab. "That's for her." Right jab, left jab, right jab. "That's for those three." Right uppercut, left uppercut, right jab. She dusted off her hands as she man slumped to the floor. "And that's for being Irish."  
  
The other Irishmen's eyes grew wide, their leader unconscious, and Morgana backed into the folds of the group as the thugs moved closer. Even Natalie was impressed. "Bos, get onstage," Alex whispered, "Angels, break. You two...just kick ass."  
  
Morgana smirked and made the first move, driving her knee into the stomach of a man in a stocking cap. He fell over and she kicked his head, and a trickle of blood slithered out onto the floor. Bosley obediently jumped up and huddled behind the bass drum, refusing the joint that the drummer was passing to him. Breathing in the secondhand fumes, he coughed.  
  
Anthony and Morgana stood back to back, in an old formation they had used many times before. A ring of twelve thugs hovered around them, and they were almost laughing as they took them out two by two, their movements mirror images.  
  
Dylan, Alex, and Natalie were each working two at a time, taking longer than the assassins were but getting the job done nonetheless. Bosley was peeking out from behind the drum set, in enough time to warn Alex of a man coming up behind her. She jumped into the air and spun, kicking both him and the other she was fighting. Their heads collided as they clattered to the floor. Seamus O'Grady was starting to come to.  
  
He sat up and looked around. _Bitch,_ he thought, looking around for Dylan and seeing that only two of his men were left. "Boys!" he yelled. The back door burst open, and in rushed a fresh twenty.  
  
They cut Dylan off from the others, and Seamus walked up to her with a ravenous look in his eye, motioning for the others to go and fight. "Seamus," she breathed. "I thought I told ya, Helen," he smirked, "Ya can't hurt me anymore."  
  
"No," came a voice, and a slender rapier blade came to rest gently on his shoulder, tilting toward his neck, "But I can."  
  
When Seamus reached for the sword, it flew up deftly and sliced open his right hand. "Bastard," he spat, wiping off the blood and whirling around. Almost immediately, Anthony thrust the tip of the sword against the man's throat. "I'm going to really enjoy this..." he said, circling him and forcing him to rotate slowly as well, "And I'm going to make sure I do it right this time."  
  
"Hey, Anthony!" Morgana called, having just knocked off another, "Let me castrate him when you're done playing, eh?" Anthony rolled his eyes and smirked, pulling the sword back. Seamus stared at him. "Fight," Anthony said, "I know how it's ending this time."  
  
Alex had gone up to see Bosley. He had inhaled enough secondhand weed to make him mildly disoriented. She helped him up and dragged him over to fresh air, by the back door. She looked to where she had just been. "Oh, no," she whispered, "Nat."  
  
Natalie was left alone. She was very close to being cornered, with only a table and a few yards between her and the wall. She was having a hard time with two thugs in front of her, and couldn't see the third coming up behind her.  
  
"Natalie!" shouted a hoarse voice. It was a woman's voice, she knew that, but who's? "Get down!" the voice shouted again. Natalie ducked and felt two figures, one heavy and one agile, fly over her head. When she looked up, Morgana had hit a thug over the head with his own crowbar and was taking out the other two, knocking one out while stepping on the other's instep and kicking him in the nose.  
  
"Holy..." panted Natalie, indicating the thug from behind her, "I didn't even notice him."  
  
"Didn't mean to steal one of yours," said Morgana.  
  
"No," said Natalie, shaking her head, "You, you saved my life..."  
  
Morgana just smiled, without a hint of malice. Natalie, letting go of herself, smiled back.  
  
They jerked their heads around when they heard a yelp from Seamus O'Grady, whom Anthony had pinned to the ground with his heel in the man's throat. "Wait a minute!" yelled Morgana, striding over and taking Anthony's place. "You want him, Dylan?" she asked. Dylan, who had been sitting on the bar and watching, shook her head.  
  
"Toss me that spoon, then," she said. Natalie looked away. Morgana knelt over Seamus, who was looking at her like she was mad.  
  
"I threatened to use one of these on Ciafatelli, you know," she said, turning the utensil over in her hand and lokoing at it philosophically, "After the idiot tried to kill everyone I cared about. I wanted to spare him, actually. Put him deeper in debt. But no," she looked down into Seamus's eyes, "I would drive this thing through your windpipe right now and not feel an ounce of guilt...But you aren't my kill. I'll let him decided what to do with you. You did, after all, attempt to kill him."  
  
"What's the matter, sweetheart," snickered Seamus, "Afraid to do it yourself?" She shot a glance at Anthony, who nodded. With a snarl and a triumphant yell, she did exactly what she had talked about doing.  
  
Cleaning the filthy blood off her hand, She stood up and tossed her hair. Anthony pulled her to him and hugged her protectively. When he let her go, Dylan put her arm around him and looked up at him, smiling. Alex had dumped a glass of water on Bosley, who had then shaken off the drug fumes. Natalie and Morgana caught each other's eyes and, to everyone's surprise, winked at each other.  
  
"So?" Alex asked, "You two alright now?"  
  
"I guess," said Natalie, "We had more in common than we thought."  
  
And with that, everyone pulled into the most lopsided group hug on the face of the earth.  
  
Charlie wished he could be there with them. He wished he could be more than a speakerbox to them. He wanted them to know what he looked like, but he couldn't. He hadn't ever before, and he couldn't now. And so he reluctantly turned and strode out of the open front door of the Bluesrock Bandstand, smiling to himself.  
  
Before he left, however, he caught Morgana's eye and put his finger to his lips. She nodded, laying her head on Bosley's shoulder. "Round for the road?" he asked, motioning to the bar.  
  
"No thanks," said Anthony, "I don't drink." Morgana laughed.

* * *

A/N: Story's almost over! _Tear._ I know, I'm sad too. I'm thinking of writing a prequel, you know, sort of Morgana and Anthony before now. What do you guys think? 


	11. Epilogue

A week after the first Friday they had spent in the club, Morgana again took the microphone at the Bluesrock Bandstand. She and Natalie had opened up, especially when Natalie showed her the now not-so-little German Shepherd puppy that Pete had bought her. It made Morgana want a dog. A Doberman, maybe.  
  
She kept her head down during the seemingly endless intro to the song she was about to sing. She could see, almost directly below her, the group sitting at the long, dark brown table. Bosley sat, sipping a Scotch, with her empty chair beside him. Next to her chair was her brother, who was holding the hand of the woman next to him, Dylan Sanders. Morgana smirked mischievously. She knew her brother was planning to ask her any day now...  
  
Next to her sat Natalie, in pink, and the arm around her shoulder belonged to her boyfriend, Pete. Next to him was Jason, who was trying to carry on a conversation with Alex. She was shushing him.  
  
_Okay_, Morgana thought,_ Focus. Five, six, seven, eight...  
_  
"On a dark desert highway,  
  
Cool wind in my hair,  
  
Warm smell of colitas,  
  
Rising up through the air..."

* * *

A/N: Thanks so much for reading and reviewing! I hope you all liked it. I also hope my writing improves in the future. I'll start another fic in a few days, as soon as the muse inspires me. Until then:  
  
_Up ahead in the distance  
  
I saw a shimmering light  
  
My head grew heavy, and my sight grew dim  
  
I had to stop for the night  
  
There she stood in the doorway  
  
I heard the mission bell  
  
And I was thinking to myself  
  
This could be Heaven or this could be Hell  
  
Then she lit up a candle  
  
And she showed me the way  
  
There were voices down the corridor  
  
I thought I heard them say  
  
Welcome to the Hotel California  
  
Such a lovely place  
  
Such a lovely face  
  
Plenty of room at the Hotel California  
  
Any time of year  
  
You can find it here  
  
Her mind is Tiffany twisted  
  
She's got the Mercedes bends  
  
She's got a lot of pretty, pretty boys  
  
That she calls friends  
  
How they dance in the courtyard  
  
Sweet summer sweat  
  
Some dance to remember  
  
Some dance to forget  
  
So I called up the Captain  
  
Please bring me my wine  
  
He said  
  
We haven't had that spirit here since 1969  
  
And still those voices are calling from far away  
  
Wake you up in the middle of the night  
  
Just to hear them say  
  
Welcome to the Hotel California  
  
Such a lovely Place  
  
Such a lovely face  
  
They're livin' it up at the Hotel California  
  
What a nice surprise  
  
Bring your alibis  
  
Mirrors on the ceiling  
  
Pink champagne on ice  
  
And she said  
  
We are all just prisoners here  
  
Of our own device  
  
And in the master's chambers  
  
They gathered for the feast  
  
They stab it with their steely knives  
  
But they just can't kill the beast  
  
Last thing I remember  
  
I was running for the door  
  
I had to find the passage back to the place I was before  
  
Relax said the nightman  
  
We are programmed to receive  
  
You can check out any time you like  
  
But you can't never leave_


End file.
